


From Q, With Love

by internetname



Series: From Q, With Love [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, this is the first of the series.  Picard and Q's relationship finally turns civil, and then turns into something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Q, With Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago under the name Veroneeka. I need to thank the incredible patience and kindness and general wonderfulness of Ruth Gifford, the beta-reader from Heaven.

“Congratulations, Mon Capitaine."

"Q!" 

"You sound so surprised." 

"Get out of my bed!" 

Picard heard the note of hysteria in his own voice, a slight trace of it only, and would perhaps have felt ridiculous, but it was really too much. After all that he had been through in the past few days, he couldn't cope with having this...entity here, now, in his bed, as though such things as privacy and refuge even mattered to a Q. He felt insulted and violated. It was just too damn much. 

"You wound me." 

"Out, Q. I mean it." His voice once again was too revealing, displaying the exhaustion he felt, dealing once again with the Borg after he'd discovered he could still hear them in his head, the responsibility of dealing with Cochrane and first contact, the feeling that he'd been cheated out of a rare and valuable friend in Lily, the deep panic he'd felt for Data, the horror of listening to himself make that demonic bargain with the Borg Queen. He just couldn't deal with Q now. 

And, as suddenly as he had arrived, Q was gone. 

Picard stretched out on his bed, the comfort of his undisturbed bedclothes not as comforting as it had been a moment ago. 

Stupid. What, do you want Beverly here? You know how that will end. Pain and recriminations, fighting and finally divorce. Because Q showed you -- 

Q. What did he want? What does that creature ever want? 

But Picard had no answer for that. 

Frowning, irritated, tired down to his bones, the captain of the Enterprise turned over twice more in frustration, feeling once again the song of the Borg, the pain of having his ship and crew assimilated, the horror of seeing that Borg-Earth... 

And then, quite suddenly, he tumbled into a deep and restful sleep, the first he'd known since that Borg dream seven days ago. But now there were no nightmares to disturb him, nothing except what seemed a near eternity of sweet slumber. 

And Q, watching, wished him an even sweeter rest, and, since he was a Q, procured it. 

  
Two days passed with no more from Q, and Picard felt himself begin to relax. 

It was more than just Q's absence, though. The ship was getting the repairs it needed and some fine upgrades in dry dock. His crew were all enjoying the accolades of saving Earth from the Borg a second time. Beverly was being given the Alsonto-Rox Award for her medical research in cybernetic regeneration. Riker and Troi were finally spending some time together -- very far away from her mother. Data was still at Starfleet Headquarters telling The Powers That Be everything he knew about his time with the Borg Queen, and LaForge was with him, holding his hand, and attending a conference on nebula plasma conversion. Worf had gone back to DS9, and his lover, Dax, but only after reluctantly parting with all the gossip about the O'Briens that he claimed, anyway, he knew. 

Picard smiled. He'd always liked the reserved Irishman and his wife. It had been an honor to marry them and he was happy to hear that they were having a second child, and that O'Brien had formed a strong friendship with a doctor named Julian Bashir. Picard had listened carefully to the "I hate doctors" dislike in Worf's voice as he spoke of the man, and heard the grudging respect underneath. Perhaps the Enterprise could find an excuse for visiting DS9 sometime in the near future. He'd like to meet Bashir, and see the O'Briens again. 

But for now Picard was content merely with getting more sleep. Repairs to the Enterprise were well in hand, and keeping the ship in space dock was hardly something that required his unvarying attention. After wishing Beverly well on her award luncheon and assuring Data that no, he really didn't want to go with Geordi to the conference, Picard had feigned work in his quarters to revel in a nice, long nap. 

"And you deserve it, Jean-Luc," that voice told him, warm breath against his ear. "You really do." 

"Q," Picard said, a sigh this time. He could face the entity now. He opened his eyes and turned to his right, towards the empty side of his bed. 

And found nothing. 

"Sorry to disappoint you," Q said from a chair across the room. "But after our last encounter I've decided not to get into your bed again until you invite me to." 

"Is that your version of conversational etiquette, Q?" Picard snapped to hide his relief in not having to deal with a full-scale assault. His brain cleared slightly, however, at his own words, especially when Q didn't answer right away, looking at him intently from his chosen seat. 

Picard sat upright in bed to look at him. Same old Q: Starfleet captain's uniform, knowing expression, perhaps a slight bit more grey at the temples than before. Why was Q pretending to age? 

"Another test, Q?" Picard asked, running a hand over his head. His body was taut and wary under the sheets, as it always became when Q was around. Back in that courtroom, Q had said he would perhaps drop in from time to time, but Picard simply hadn't been expecting the Continuum to be interested in another round of games so soon. 

"I'm not here on Continuum business," Q said. 

"Are you reading my mind?" It was a question he'd wanted to ask too many times to resist any longer. 

"No. Your face is too expressive to require it." 

Picard frowned, not liking the sound of that. "What do you want this time then, Q?" 

"Nothing." 

Picard frowned more deeply, and Q noted with a pang that it made the captain look old. He didn't want to think about that. He was a Q. He shouldn't have to think about mortality. 

Ah, but then Picard wasn't a Q, now, was he? 

_Fool,_ Q thought, memories flooding him in his Human form of Q laughing at him while he'd watched this man and his ship over the past several days, fighting the Borg he himself had introduced them to. The Continuum had enjoyed every bit of his anxiety, and found so amusing his pride in Jean-Luc, his -- 

"What do you mean, 'nothing?'" Picard's voice broke in, thankfully, on Q's thoughts. 

"I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I'd look you up. For once you can't claim I'm interrupting some all-important mission to save the world." 

"No. You're a little late for that." 

Q smiled at the captain's wry tone. 

"My," he said. "You are feeling better. Care to take a walk?" 

"A what?" The expressive eyes narrowed at him. 

"A walk, Jean-Luc, just a little stroll to help you sleep better." 

"I was on my way to sleeping just fine before you arrived." 

Q scowled. Was there no correct approach to this man? Couldn't he just this once-- 

But no, he couldn't. Picard would never let their past encounters go, no matter that Q had saved his life, and helped Picard appreciate that life more, or that Q had helped these Humans in more ways than they could ever realize. It looked as though once again he would have to fabricate something to keep the captain's attention, some scenario, however ridiculous, to make him believe the Earth or his ship or his dignity was at stake. 

Really, it was so humiliating. 

But then, for the millionth time, Picard surprised Q. 

"What sort of a walk did you have in mind?" 

Q kept himself from starting at the wary but decidedly not hostile tone. He also told himself not to smirk, not to shrug, and not to make a snide remark. "You choose," he said with a faint, non-threatening smile. "Anywhere you like, my dear friend." Don't push it. Don't push. "A garden? A beach? A dark jungle?" 

This last brought a faint smile to Picard's lips, then a frown, and Q hurried on a bit. "We could even take a stroll around the Rings of Tauteen." 

"Somehow I don't feel I'm dressed for it." 

Knowledge of what Picard was wearing made something tremble and curl in the bottom of Q's quite Human stomach. It really was the most amazing cheek for Jean-Luc to wear those pajamas, and he wondered one more time if the man realized how much about himself they gave away. 

And then Q was working hard to think about anything but the strong curves of Picard's legs, and his response to the captain's quip came out without the elaborations he usually sought. 

"I can take care of that, if you like." Q recovered himself. "Or perhaps we could go somewhere that would accommodate your current attire." 

Picard had been leaning back on his hands, and now shifted his body weight to the left to bring up his right hand to rub across his head again. "I really don't have the energy for this right now, Q," he said. "You'd better just tell me what you want." 

_How about I want you to lie on your stomach and spread your beautiful legs and let me push my hard cock inside your ass until you scream for me to fuck you rougher and deeper until we both come so hard we pass out?_

Oh dear. Good thing he was sitting here with his legs crossed. 

"Never mind, Mon Capitaine," Q said instead, raising his fingers in prelude to snapping them. "If you don't want to go for a walk, return to your nap." 

"Wait," Picard said sharply, and Q allowed his poised fingers to remain in the air. Picard exhaled roughly. "Why do you want me to go somewhere with you? Is there something you want me to see?" 

And while his raised hand made no motion, something of another sort all together snapped inside Q, and he said almost crossly. "Why is it so hard for you to believe I would want to help you right now? I've helped you in the past, and you hadn't just been back in time, almost getting yourself assimilated again, offering yourself up to that fetching creature [Careful, Q. Don't go there.] in return for Data's freedom, almost losing your precious new ship in the process. 

"Oh, and I meant to tell you," Q added, sliding back into his old self with relief. This wasn't going to work. Time to stop trying so hard. "I'd like to congratulate you on your new digs. I must say I was surprised they'd trust you with another ship considering what you did with the last one. But then, you weren't really to blame, were you? Lady drivers!" 

Picard realized he'd been staring steadily at Q for several minutes now, watching in fascination the play of personae. First there had been the usual rudeness of popping in, then the genuine-seeming concern, then the exasperation and almost hurt friend, and now this true nature of Q, mocking and snide. Why, then, did it suddenly seem so fake? 

"A garden," Picard said. 

"What?" Q's ready-to-snap hand finally came down. 

"I'd like to go for a walk in a garden, and not in my pajamas, if you don't mind." 

Q stared at him hard, then snapped his fingers without even raising his hand, and then they were standing, same relative distance between them, in a spring-lit garden under a pink-toned blue sky. Q's outfit had changed into unfaded jeans and a plain black t-shirt. 

Picard looked down at himself and saw a remarkably un-costume-like pair of tan trousers and light blue shirt. With surprise, he recognized them from his own closet. Without thinking about it, he relaxed, and when he looked back at Q, his eyes were clear. The entity seemed faintly pleased by this, and nodded at him. 

"Where are we?" he asked. 

"Dicsh'kat," Q sneezed. "A lovely planet quite a ways from Earth, I'm afraid." He held up a hand to forestall the demand in Picard's eyes. "And if for any reason at all you're needed back on the Enterprise, I shall return us there immediately." 

Picard looked mollified before looking around. The scenery was breath-taking, but not overly exotic. The garden was obviously well-maintained, but informal, and the scent of the combined near-roses and almost-daisies and sort-of-azaleas was sweet without being over-powering. He felt himself relax more and noticed that several paths lay before them. 

"What race lives here?" 

"The Dicsh'kat, of course," Q said, "but we're not going to be meeting any of them, don't worry. This is the garden of the royal sisters, and they're across the world right now, attending a three-day marriage festival of their cousin." 

"Friends of yours?" 

"Friends of friends." 

Picard didn't bother to stop the smile on his lips. Knowing Q was waiting for it, he chose a path and began to walk. To tell the truth, he'd been in the mood for one, but the holodeck had not tempted him. This was different, real and inviting and unknown territory. Q fell into step beside him, and the garden seemed endless and endlessly beautiful. The sun, faintly orange, burned quite pleasantly in the strangely colored sky, and his skin felt warmed but not overhot as his muscles loosened with the exercise. 

Picard had no doubt that soon, perhaps in just another moment, Q would tell him what this was all about, and that he most certainly wouldn't like it, not if it took this much build-up. But for right now he didn't want to think about temporal anomalies or the role of Humanity in the universe, or the Borg, or Shakespeare, for that matter. He just wanted to walk. 

And for over two hours that's just what he did, and Q said not a word the whole time. 

The garden, Picard discovered, had been laid out in sections, with various color schemes dominant in each patch. They had just finished walking through a section of darkly blue, deeply black and brilliantly red flowers when the path turned around a small stream and led up a hill to a broad, smooth bench that, to Picard's mind, fairly cried out for use. He pulled himself to a stop before it, met Q's raised eyebrows with a slow jerk of his head, and they sat down on it together, a few feet between them, comfortable breathing room. 

Picard looked the entity over and noted with surprise the beads of perspiration along Q's hairline, and the rather heavy, though far from panting, rise and fall of his chest. 

"What is it?" Q asked, breaking their silence softly. 

Picard hesitated, then, "Q, just how Human are you right this moment?" 

Q shrugged. "As Human as you, physically. I'm not using my powers, though I can without altering myself too much." Picard looked surprised again. "I'm a little tired from the walk. I'm even hungry." 

Picard nodded in agreement and wasn't too surprised when a small table filled with cut sandwiches, wine, and fruit pastries appeared at Picard's end of the bench. Without making himself think about it, the captain took one of the small plates on the table and loaded it with food, then poured the wine -- his own label, he noted -- into a glass before handing both of them to Q, who accepted them with only a slight pause and a murmured "Thank you, garcon." 

Picard filled his own glass and plate before turning forward on the bench and eating his lunch -- or was this dinner? He looked at the sky. 

"It's early afternoon," Q said around a mouthful of pastry. 

Picard set his half-empty glass on the bench between them. "Are you sure you're not reading my mind?" 

"Never without permission, Mon Capitaine, I assure you." 

Picard frowned at that, reminded of Q's comments about his bed. He shook his head and set his empty plate on the table before turning to his companion. 

"I'm ready, Q," he said. 

Q looked astonished for one quarter of a second, then asked with dead calm, "Ready for what?" 

"Ready to learn why you're here, and what this is all about." 

Q sighed and looked at his own empty plate before snapping his fingers and removing everything but their refilled glasses. "I've told you why I'm here. I want to help you." 

"Help me do what?" 

"Help you...relax...feel better. I'm just trying to be a friend." 

"I remember the first time you told me you wanted to help me," Picard responded with some heat. "I ended up prancing about Sherwood Forest and making an ass out of myself." 

Q absolutely refused to think about strong legs clad in green tights. 

"I was a lot newer to the concept of friendship then," he said. "I didn't know the ropes." 

"After billions of years of not understanding you finally get enlightenment?" Picard scoffed. Q didn't answer. The captain sighed again, though without roughness. His voice when he spoke was almost wistful. "This really would be so much easier if you'd just tell me what's going on." He sat up a little straighter. "Or is that the test this time? Do I have to figure out what this is about on my own?" 

Q looked over at him blankly, not betraying the slightest thought, as he once again felt his Human body reacting. This always happened when he spent too long in this form. As himself, a creature of thought and energy, the longing was cerebral and electric, an absence of desired stimuli which colored each day just a little greyer and less purposeful than it should be even for a creature that had lived for millennia upon millennia. But this Human version of himself, even without Picard's presence to help it, manifested that cerebral longing into specific reactions he was helpless against, unless he wanted to use his powers, which defeated the purpose of being in this body in the first place. Away from Picard, he felt an empty feeling in his stomach, and a resigned helplessness across his shoulders...as well as the occasional and completely unexpected erection. 

And now, next to him, able to sense the man's body heat and smelling the traces of him in the warmed air, the pressure was again increasing between his legs, and his fingers itched to draw themselves over that strong face, across his brow, under that shirt. Such feelings had grown familiar now, though they were no less potent for all that. In the early days, even before he'd tempted Riker to join the Q, those feelings had completely thrown him, embarrassed him. But now he almost welcomed the aches they started in his body, the slow flush of warmth. What would it be like, he wondered, as he had wondered so many times that even he had lost count, to press himself against that body and feel welcomed? What if he could put his lips to that strength and watch Picard's eyes grow dark with desire, his breath become uneven, maybe even feel Picard's hands touch him back -- 

Ah ah. Don't go there either. 

And so he spent his time coming up with all manner of distractions: flirting with Janeway, dallying with his son -- now the almost sole possession of his Q companion. It had been their arrangement: she would get him for the first thousand years, and he would have him for the next. And he knew she wouldn't come close to him before that. A thousand years. Picard's bones would be dust by then. 

The captain watched, puzzled, as the slightest hint of grief made its way through Q's blank look. But then the dark eyes came alive with mockery once more. 

"Here I go to all the trouble of fixing you up with a lovely walk and an excellent lunch," Q began, "and all I get is suspicion and interrogations." 

"Just answer the question, Q!" 

Snap. 

Picard found himself alone, in his bed and pajamas. A command to the computer revealed that he'd been gone for three hours. And how long would it be this time, he wondered as he threw back the bedclothes and shoved himself out of bed, before Q would return? 

And for three weeks, he kept wondering. 

  
“Ware cleared for passage out of dry dock," Data said happily, his emotion chip bubbling a bit as the android's hands worked over the controls. 

Picard nodded and looked over at their new helmsman: Lt. J.G. Abigail Britt, a thirty-something woman who smiled nicely but said little. She was Terran, and her dark red hair was pulled neatly into a French twist. Her own movements over the conn were efficient and controlled. Picard wondered how long it would take Riker and Data to loosen her up. 

"Take us out, Lieutenant Britt," Picard said. 

"Aye, sir," came the carefully measured response. 

Riker met his eyes before rolling his own. 

Not very long, Picard surmised. 

Once the Enterprise was on its way, warp six to the Demonit System to off-load medical supplies and pick up another two nurses for Beverly, Picard left Riker at the conn and went into his ready room, not looking forward too much to the fuel status reports he needed to authorize. He sat at his desk, a little weary now that they were finally underway. Dry dock had been taxing in more ways than one, and he simply couldn't shake this rather draining feeling of anticipation. Somewhere, dimly, he was aware of disappointment, but not of its cause. He picked up the padd. Checking the reports would take him three hours at least. 

"I've already checked them, Jean-Luc. They're fine." 

Picard's head snapped up, his eyes fixing on the long figure draped across the room's couch. Starfleet captain's uniform, brightly dark eyes, mocking smile. 

"Finally come to tell me what you want?" 

"You know, I've decided that question actually comes from an eagerness to please me," Q drawled. "Are you really ready to do whatever I ask?" 

"I haven't got time for this." 

"You have three hours to talk to me, considering that's what I've saved you by checking those reports. And even for a Q it was a bit of work, bored me almost to tears. You could say thank you." 

Picard looked down at the padd in his hands and realized that he did believe Q had checked them over. It was simply too small a thing to deceive him about. He looked up again. 

"Thank you." 

Q chuckled and shook his head, then looked at him expectantly. 

Picard only waited and looked back, distracted, however, by a strange flutter in his stomach. Was he hungry? ill? It had started, though, at Q's arrival. Was this feeling...anticipation? But no, he'd been feeling anticipation for three weeks, and this was definitely different. Happier, maybe, and more distracting. 

Picard shook himself, betraying none of this, he hoped, to his visitor. 

"Look --" Picard modulated his tone, putting on his best ambassador's face. "Q, if you want something in return for your help with the temporal anomaly, and if I can give it to you without compromising something important, I'll consider it." 

"A major concession," Q acknowledged. "But it's not good enough." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

Q stood, and Picard felt something almost like anger from him, but not a rage that was directed at himself. "I mean," he said, "that I've decided I can't keep on like this, too much half-and-half. A Q has to have some excitement in his life, but too much uncertainty interferes with the digestion. No." He put his hands on the back of the chair in front of Picard's desk and looked down at the captain. "No and not anymore." 

"Q, what are you talking about?" 

"You, Picard. I'm talking about you. I drop in, pleasant as pie, I read over your excruciating fuel reports to save you a little of your Human tedium, I'm nothing but polite and friendly, and you treat me like a stray dog who's piddled on your rug. Well, I've had it. I've told you the Q are infinite, but my patience is not. You are going to have to make up your mind." 

"Explain." 

Q sighed. "Do you want me to visit you anymore or not?" 

Picard blinked. That was the last question he thought he would ever hear from Q, something right after "Could you give me some advice on getting along better with Worf?" 

"If you don't want me to visit anymore, I won't," Q continued. 

Picard felt something jolt inside him but for the life of him couldn't identify it. 

"No answer, Jean-Luc?" and there was a hurt note indeed to Q's voice. "Don't I even rate a response?" 

They're laughing, Q thought. The entire Continuum, even though he couldn't sense them, was certainly laughing at him now. 

Well, let them laugh. If Picard finally admitted he wanted Q around he'd laugh right back at them. 

Because the thing of it was, Q understood that laughter even better than they, and could hold that understanding not as a shield, exactly, but as a sort of buffer. Ever since Q's suicide and the resulting civil war, Q and a few of his fellow Q had begun to realize that the need for pleasure and delight and surprise was greater, more important, more vital than any of them and their noble-minded philosophizing had ever guessed. In Picard, Q had found something most of the Continuum envied, even if they did think it was ridiculous. Q had a sudden mental image of Q dropping from the skies and falling onto hordes of unsuspecting mortals, looking for what Q had found. 

If Picard admitted that he wanted Q around. 

If... 

Picard cleared his throat, pushing his hands flat against the desk. For years he'd dreamed of having a moment like this, because he was absolutely certain that Q was serious. One word from him, and Q would never appear before him again. 

Never? The smell of hundreds of flowers seemed to fill his lungs, the easy companionship of a single luncheon recalled. 

"No," he found himself saying, found himself thinking. "I mean, yes. I -- as long as you don't throw my ship half-way across the galaxy or fix up the universe so that I might destroy Humanity, I don't mind if you want to visit me." 

"You don't mind?" Q said coldly. 

"What do you want me to do?" Picard demanded, rising from his chair and coming out from behind his desk. "Buy you flowers?" 

"A simple 'It's nice to see you' will do." 

"It's nice to see you, damnit!" 

_Bree-brop!_

"Come," Picard said, not taking his eyes off Q. 

"Captain," Troi began as she walked into the room, her eyes on a padd in her hands. "I think we may have a problem with...Oh." 

Q looked at her in resentment, and for an instant the emotion corroded the mental block he'd set up to protect himself from her awareness. 

And Troi felt that resentment, and...something else, something Q quickly covered, but not before a lot of things about the entity and his behavior suddenly made a lot more sense. 

And Troi found, to her absolute astonishment, that she approved. 

And Q felt that, and blinked at her. She blinked back. Picard looked at them both. 

"You have something to report, Counselor?" he asked finally. 

With a shake, Troi passed over the padd and explained the difficulties they were having in dealing with the Demonit government. Seems they were wanting a more detailed explanation not only of the content of the medical supplies, but also their origin, their transportation, and their relative worth on the Ferengi Exchange. 

"The Ferengi?" Picard asked absently, looking over the report. 

"Horrid little trolls," Q muttered from the couch he was now sprawled upon. 

Picard looked over at him, then back at Troi. "Tell Data I'll need to speak to Chancellor G'Thak immediately. 

"A captain's work is never done," Q muttered before flashing out of sight. 

"Was there something more, Commander?" Picard asked Troi as she hovered next to the doorway. 

Troi considered carefully. The captain had reported Q's recent visits, though he had given them few details. Everyone had been wondering what the entity was after, and now Troi knew...at least in part...but that didn't mean she should necessarily tell the captain. He wouldn't like it, especially not if she told him about his own feelings (as jumbled and indistinct as they were) for Q. 

Troi knew Picard's repression of his feelings came from more than a lack of trust. Picard had never loved another man that way, had never even thought about it. But Q wasn't a man, and the captain wasn't exactly a bigot. 

No, she decided, leaving the room with a murmur. She simply had to think about this a lot more before she took any action. 

If she took any action. 

  
She was still thinking about it that night when her door chimed. 

"Come," she said, glad she hadn't yet taken off her uniform. 

Q appeared before her in his little flash of light. 

"Hello, Q," she said pleasantly, not bothering to hide her smile. "Would you like a cup of tea?" _Or a cold shower?_

"Have all the fun you want," Q responded. 

"You're certain of your success, then?" 

"Obviously not." Q smiled at her surprise. "What do you think of my chances?" 

"Did you come here for counseling, Q?" 

"I want to know if you're going to tell him." 

Troi sighed. "No." 

"Why not?" 

She looked at him. She couldn't feel a thing coming from him now. She wondered if she ever would again. 

"I tell people things they want me to tell them to help them personally, and things they need to know to function well professionally. You fall into neither catagory." 

"You be sure to remember that," Q said, but the threat sounded hollow to both of them, and, in another flash, he was gone. 

Troi looked quietly at the place where he had stood. She still didn't understand why she approved of this, why she was happy for her captain. 

Except that every relationship he'd had with...mortals had ended badly or trailed off into nothing, and she wanted him to have someone. She fiercely wanted him, in fact, to have a replacement for Robert and Rene, for Beverly, for his almost-son Jason Vego, for everything and anything he'd lost. Q was a pest, but what she'd felt from him for Jean-Luc was nothing short of epic and incredibly pure: desire and love and longing so raw and deep she still felt the sweetness of it, and she wondered how she'd kept from gasping in Picard's ready room at the merest touch of it. How could she keep from wanting Picard to know about that first-hand? To enjoy it? Perhaps, even to return it? She was certain Picard was capable of it, and to have him live his life and never feel it, never know it... 

And so she walked a little forward to stand in the spot where Q had been, and whispered softly, "I'm not laughing, Q." 

  
The Demonit mission was several days behind them and they were speeding along at warp five to DS6, a four-week journey, when Picard realized that once again he wasn't alone in his ready room. 

Putting down both his half-drunk tea and his scarcely read padd, Picard looked over to his sofa. A Starfleet captain's uniform, dark eyes shining, an expectant look on his face. 

Picard waited a moment, made the comment genuine: "It's nice to see you, Q." 

The smile Q returned puzzled Picard. It was warm and...shy? 

"The beach this time?" Q asked, mockery fully evident again, though malice was not. "Dark jungle? Those oft-mentioned Rings of Tauteen?" 

"Would it bore you horribly to return to that garden?" 

"Ah! The scene of our first date! How touching!" 

Picard scowled at him and realized they were sitting on their bench. 

"The" bench, Picard corrected himself. Q's humor was starting to rub off on him. 

They were once again in their walking clothes, and Picard rose without a word, distantly annoyed, though at what, he wasn't certain. They walked as they had before, in silence, through more flowers and trees and bushes and...things...than he could take in. It was several hours this time before he stopped at another bench, this one complete with a backrest, thank goodness, and he almost collapsed on it. He'd stomped more than he meant to, and his feet were tired. 

"Still in a foul temper, Mon Capitaine?" Q asked lightly. "Want to tell me what's on your mind?" 

"What happened with you and Troi in my ready room?" 

"What did she say happened?" 

Picard opened and closed his mouth, then, "She said she was surprised to see you, but could sense nothing alarming in your presence." 

"A wise woman." 

"A compliment for a member of my crew? I'm astonished." 

"Oh, they're all very fine, very competent, even remarkable...for Humans and other primitives." 

Somehow the insult made the compliment seem more sincere, and Picard's surprise deepened into pleasure, though he kept his eyes averted from Q while he felt it. 

"Are the sisters still at the wedding?" he asked. 

"They're at the Temple of Astrix, actually. Making their offerings." 

"Not to you, I hope?" 

"Do I look like an Astrix to you?" 

Picard laughed. 

Q's eyebrows rose in astonishment, but he cut off his next planned remark and replaced it with, "Besides, today's offering is a newborn calf, and those are soooo fattening." 

Picard's laughter got louder. 

"Now, if I were their object of worship, I'd have them give me god-sized gift certificates for the Risian Bazaar." 

Picard's laughter got somewhat strangled, and Q restrained himself from beaming with pleasure. The captain was actually having to hold his stomach, and Q wanted to ask him whether he knew the Risian Bazaar was a line of stalls exclusively offering wild sex toys. 

Picard knew he really should stop himself from laughing. It wasn't really all _that_ funny, but the images it drew up in his head made him giddy. 

Finally, he quieted and glanced at Q. 

And the expression on the entity's face made him grow extremely quiet indeed. There was affection there and something else, something almost desperate. 

And then it was gone, and he had to wonder if it had really been there, and why his stomach was churning. 

_I'm not used to laughing so much,_ he thought, surprised that he felt a sudden contempt for himself. 

"You gave us quite a workout with your little stroll," Q said, an obvious change of topic for someone with his conversational skills. 

"Hmmm," Picard said, glad enough to follow the gambit, and kept himself from starting when a glass of cool water appeared in his hand. They both drank, and then the table with its sandwiches and wine appeared again, and the sun had gotten rather low in the sky, and the long shadows around them combined with a slight and delicious cooling of the temperature, and Picard felt himself relax again. It felt good to sit here, eating dinner with a friend. 

Friend? When had that started? 

But Picard couldn't play that game now. He really had been genuinely pleased to see Q this time, and maybe the time before that as well. As long as he wasn't trusting Q with anything but his own feelings he was free to do what he liked, and he wanted to think of this strange entity as his friend. 

Guinan would be appalled. 

Q was watching the play of emotions over Picard's unguarded face and felt his Human stomach twist in painful anticipation. Damnit, he was nervous. The temptation to let Picard simply relax into companionship and leave it there was strong, but that wouldn't be enough, never even close to enough. 

He could, of course, use his powers to return to this point in time if this didn't work out right. But that would be...cheating, somehow. He'd never done that to Picard before and he wouldn't, no matter what. He couldn't, any more than he could make up a fake Picard, or use his powers to force Picard to leave his dinner and get down on his knees between Q's legs and bend his perfectly shaped head down to pull Q into his mouth and stroke him with his -- 

Stop it! Stop it! 

"Are your feet sore?" Q asked calmly, having noted twice now the small frown and direction of his eyes as Picard flexed the muscles in his legs. 

"A bit." 

With a snap, Q again cleared their dinner of all but the refilled wine glasses and positioned himself at an angle on the bench. 

"Why don't you take off your shoes and put your feet up?" 

Picard frowned, then shrugged and did just that, putting his stockinged feet on the bench in the space between them. Q kept his mouth from falling open. He'd had a string of arguments at the ready, but, again, the Human had surprised him. 

Q had to concentrate to keep his hands from shaking as he took Picard's right foot into his strong grasp. Picard seemed surprised by the maneuver, but didn't -- quite -- protest, and soon Q was kneading his foot gently and expertly, and Picard didn't feel like protesting at all. 

Leaning against the backrest and closing his eyes, Picard kept a steady hand wrapped around his wine glass and decided, just for a few minutes, to relax, really relax and let Q rub his tired feet. Something between his gut and his chest that had been taut for weeks seemed to relax as well, and he felt curiously at peace. The wine, he thought, and the soft evening air, and the company and... 

"Oooh." 

The hands stilled and Picard opened his eyes, a little embarrassed at the noise he'd made. 

"Did I hurt you?" 

"No, sorry." Picard frowned and then cleared his face into something friendly. "You're just very good at this." 

Q smiled, pleased, and bent his head back to his work. Picard felt his eyes close again, and when he made the next involuntary sound, Q just pressed a little deeper into the same place. After a while, he changed feet, then changed back. 

Q couldn't believe how good this felt. Even when Vash had shown him every trick she knew -- and she knew a lot of them -- he hadn't been this excited, not inside, not in the part of him that was really Q, and not just Human responses. He wanted to laugh at himself now, overjoyed to be touching Picard's feet! He almost wanted to stop, but then Jean-Luc made another moan of pleasure and he knew he could sit here for a very long time indeed before boredom -- his old and relentless foe -- could put in even a token appearance. 

Impatience, however, was another matter. He was having to will his fingers away from travelling any further up Picard's legs than the ankles. It was a good thing the captain's feet weren't bare. He couldn't help thinking that he was so close to those calves, to those thighs, to...other things. In his clear-sighted Q imagination he saw himself moving his head down, touching Picard with his lips and tongue. 

Oh dear. Somehow he was going to have to get his legs crossed again. 

Picard was watching Q through half-closed eyes, taking in the concentration on his face, the delicacy of his fingers as they moved across his toes and the push of his palm into his instep. His feet weren't sore anymore. He should perhaps tell Q to stop. 

And then Picard realized what Q wanted. 

Forcing himself not to tense up, not to give himself away, Picard asked himself if he were sure about this revelation. Surely Q had better things to do than talk his way into Picard's pants! Perhaps it was some sort of trick to get Picard in a compromising position -- and that was about as compromising at they came -- and then laugh at him. Did he really think for one minute he stood a chance? Picard wasn't about to be Q's Human sex toy! 

"That's enough, Q," he said coldly, retracting his feet and feeling exposed enough at how far this had gone. He'd been groaning in pleasure, damnit, and he cursed himself for ever having trusted -- 

Picard's sudden action had startled Q, and he hadn't thought to cross his legs after all. The captain could see then, through Q's jeans, that unmistakable bulge, and his eyes flew up, full of accusation, into the hot expression of desire Q no longer bothered to tamp down. 

"You're insane," Picard whispered. 

Q shrugged, an eloquent expression of resignation and defeat. "Well, I am crazy about you, Jean-Luc. I don't feel I've ever really hidden that very well." 

Picard stared, speechless. 

Q sighed. " _Would_ it help if I were female? It really doesn't make any difference, in the end, to me. I could get used to it for you." 

"Your gender or lack of it is not the issue, and you know it," Picard said quietly in acid-laced tones. "If you think for one minute I could ever trust you enough --" 

"I've never lied to you, not once." 

"There are lies of omission, Q. And you certainly never told me about this...game you're playing." 

"This isn't a game. Jean-Luc, this is the most honest I've ever been with you." 

"What, sitting there with a hard-on?" Picard felt his insides shaking. This simply was not happening to him. "It's not even your body!" 

Q laughed bitterly at that. "It certainly is. It reflects me, my nature, in Human terms." 

Picard frowned, momentarily distracted by this long-desired piece of information. "So then, this is you? Dark-haired, tall, male?" 

Q went back to sighing. "In a sense, a non-Human sense, there are certain things about me which correspond to my appearance and the male gender. But I could appear female now if I wished, it just wouldn't be as much _me_...but I could work on it, adapt myself so that a female form would be just as much a reflection of me. It would take a while, but I could return to this time --" 

"How long is 'a while,' exactly?" 

Q seemed cheered by Picard's interest and responded candidly and with a trace of his old mockery. "In mortal terms, so insufficient, really: perhaps a century, perhaps two." 

Picard didn't want to believe that, had no real reason not to, except... 

"You'd spend that much time just to..." 

"Tell me it has a chance, Jean-Luc," Q said eagerly, leaning forward as though he couldn't help himself and placing the lightest of touches on Picard's knee. "Tell me I have just a chance, no promises necessary, and I will." 

Picard shook himself away from that light warm touch and turned on the bench to put his shoes back on. This was ridiculous, ludicrous, and he had had more than enough. 

"Your gender isn't important to me, Q. If I loved someone, or even felt enough affection and desire for them, their gender wouldn't matter to me. But I don't feel anything for you." He stood up, noticing with surprise that Q had drawn up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, a curiously Human and vulnerable position. "Take me home," he ordered. 

"That was a lie," Q said. 

"What? Which of the many things you've told me --" 

"No no no, Jean-Luc," Q said, standing up in one fluid motion that made Picard's chest tighten. Was he frightened of Q now? They stood less than a foot apart. "I've never lied to you, I told you that. What you said to me was a lie." He pointed one long finger at the captain as he narrowed both his eyes and his tone. "You told me just now you don't feel anything for me." 

"Apart from anger and disgust that I almost trusted you, almost believed you were just trying to establish something honest with me, I don't!" 

"My 'honesty' has already been established as the means of offending you." 

"Do you _honestly_ think I would ever let you...satisfy your curiosity, I suppose, by allowing you to --" 

"I love you, Jean-Luc," Q said reverently, ardently, taking a small, involuntary step forward. Picard shrunk back, but Q was too aware how wonderful it felt finally to say it not to repeat himself. "I love you." 

"Love!" Picard scoffed, color high in his face, his heart pounding. "What would you know about love?" 

Q narrowed his gaze a little further and smiled, faintly. "Now there's an invitation if I ever heard one." And he snapped his fingers. 

Picard looked around in alarm. It was some sort of large chamber with soft white walls and several large, open windows over which billowed delicate white curtains, and through which poured warming sunlight. The floor was carpeted thickly in the same creamy, clean shade. 

But mostly, the room consisted of one large, white-draped-and-clothed bed. 

Picard looked at this central piece of furniture and heard his own ridiculous gasp. He whirled on Q. "Enough of this! I don't know this game, or if I do it's an old one I would have thought beneath you. Either way I'm not going to cooperate." A horrible thought struck him. "Unless you think you can force me to --" 

"If I were interested in forcing you, we'd have come to this room years ago." His voice dropped. "And don't think I wasn't tempted, Picard, sorely and deeply tempted. How do you think it's been for me, knowing I could simply wish it and you'd let me fuck you on your own bridge, while Riker applauded and Data took notes?" 

Picard was so angry he had trouble controlling his breathing. 

"Is this what happened between you and Troi?" he asked. "She realized this is what you're after?" 

"Your little counselor girl knows I'm in love with you," Q admitted mildly. 

Picard clenched his fists in outrage and betrayal. 

"She did what she felt was right." 

"Another lie of omission?" Picard grated out. 

"I thought you trusted her, Jean-Luc." Q was speaking softly now, looking at the captain's taut body and thinking about the many ways he'd like to alieviate that tension. Strangely, now that it was finally happening, the moment that had caused him so much unrest, even fear, he felt strangely calm. Picard's emotional level really was encouraging, and there were some rather interesting questions the captain wasn't asking. 

"I did!" 

"Then continue to trust her. Ask yourself, if she realized I was playing a game, would she have kept it to herself?" 

Picard didn't answer. 

"No, exactly," Q went on. "If she felt I was trying to humiliate you, or deceive you, wouldn't she have said so, right there in your ready room? Now, ask yourself, what must she have felt, what could she have felt from me that kept her quiet?" 

Picard looked away from him, his chest still moving in deep, almost shuddering breaths. "I don't trust you." 

"You should. I would never hurt you. If you'd only say the word, I wouldn't let anything hurt you. But you never would, of course. Oh, Jean-Luc." Q stopped himself from reaching out to touch the captain only by keeping his arms rigid, his fists down at his thighs. "You don't know how hard this has been for me, for me! a Q! I'm not supposed to find anything hard, certainly nothing from mortals." He laughed, an edgy, over-wrought sound that drew Picard's gaze back to him. "It was even worse this time than when they made you Locutus. Why the Borg? Why always the Borg?" 

At the genuine pain and self-recrimination in Q's voice, Picard couldn't help but respond diplomatically, "If you hadn't introduced us to the Borg, we would have had no warning, no way to prepare, and they would have assimilated us." 

"I know," Q said with special emphasis. "But they wouldn't have come for you personally, and I didn't realize..." One hand, his right hand, no longer obeyed the orders from his Human brain. It rose, slowly, one finger slightly extended, and made its way to Picard's face, intending to run along one curved brow. But Picard saw his hand and flinched from it, and something inside Q decided he'd been patient long enough. 

In half a step, he had Picard's upper arms in his hands, forcing the man to look at him, to face him. 

"Tell me what to do," he implored. "Tell me what I can do to convince you." But Picard only stared back, almost blankly now, and suddenly a plan occurred to Q and he released his arms, dropped to his knees, and kissed Picard swiftly but gently between his legs. 

"Q!" Picard shouted, backing up several unsteady steps to look down on the entity with horror. 

Q stayed on his knees. It was hard as hell, but he knew Picard knew looking weak was something Q hated. It was an offering, a show of his sincerity, not weakness. "You think I want to humiliate you?" He laughed. "Make you look foolish? Laugh at you? Laugh at me, Picard. Tell me to do almost anything, anything for you, and I'll do it, and you can laugh at me." 

Picard's horror was growing, and he realized with an abruptness that took away his ability to breathe regularly that his horror wasn't for himself, but for Q, acting this way. Had he driven him to it? Could Q be telling the truth? 

"Get up, Q," Picard said, closing his eyes against the sudden weariness that took him over. "Get up from the floor. That's all I want." 

Obediently, Q rose and stood quietly. 

Picard looked around the room, then remembered and stopped looking. "I want to return to the Enterprise," he said quietly, but Q shook his head. 

"Now you've found the one thing I won't do, and I should have known you would." Picard looked at him, and Q felt like singing when he saw that the horror was gone. "I've waited too many years for this, watched you and wanted you for too long. We resolve this now. Either you accept that I love you or you send me away for good. I can't take it anymore." 

"And if I accept that you love me, you'll return me to my ship?" 

"After we make love until our brains short-circuit, yes." 

Picard really wanted to sit down, and with the shortage of chairs, he settled on the floor, a nice cross-legged sitting that had none of Q's groveling in it. 

Picard closed his eyes as the memory hit him: Q kneeling in front of him, Q pleading, Q kissing the cloth over his penis. 

Picard dragged his mind away from it. 

"I could accept that you love me and not want to make love with you," Picard noted somewhat wryly. This conversation, he decided, had become so completely bizarre that nothing he said really mattered anymore. 

Slowly, Q crossed the distance between them and settled himself on the floor, a little inside Picard's comfort zone, as usual. 

"Jean-Luc," he said softly, leaning yet again towards his ear. "You've wanted me...or at least been curious about me since we were on that shuttlecraft together." 

Picard kept himself from responding to that, outwardly, at least. It was true that he'd felt something during those six hours together, their little tug-of-war before Q had offered to join the crew, but he didn't feel like calling it sexual desire. 

At least, not yet. 

"Do you want persuading, Mon Capitaine?" Q asked softly, softly, as he leaned in a little farther, that warm breath again moving across sensitive skin. 

"Q..." Picard began. But what was it he wanted to say? 

"Please, Jean-Luc. Let me show you how I feel." 

And so Picard remained still this time as that right hand returned to his face, and the index finger traced his right brow and then his left gently, faintly, as though Picard were the most valuable piece of art in the universe. Which, of course, he was, to Q. Picard made himself look into the entity's eyes and saw everything Q had promised: love, desire, tenderness. That tension between his stomach and his chest was back, painfully, burning now as he watched Q's face come nearer his own. 

"So long," Q moaned softly. "I've wanted to do this for so long." 

And then their lips came together, just a faint brush at first, and then more pressure, and then a bit more, and Picard felt Q's lips, soft and warm and trembling just a bit, twist around his, and something jolted him. He opened his mouth in surprise and Q's tongue breached him, moving over his teeth to slide along his tongue, teasing it, curling under it, then retreating to thrust back in again. 

And Picard's arms were up now, for balance, his hands gripping Q's shoulders tightly, perhaps for more than balance, as the kiss continued. 

Q felt the grip of Picard's hands, the movement of Picard's tongue against his own, and for the first time understood the Human predilection for feeling faint. His erection was throbbing painfully now (another new sensation) and every atom of his Human body seemed to be singing with joy and desire and urgent, urgent need. When Picard's tongue suddenly moved into him and tentatively brushed the roof of Q's mouth, the entity groaned and moved without thinking. One quick motion, and Picard was on his back on the floor, and Q threw a leg over his beautiful body as his arms gathered him in close. The smell of him, the dried sweat from their walk in the garden, the faint hint of soap from his morning's shower, and something else, something new. Q inhaled deeply the smell of this man and tried to understand what this meant without using anything more than his Human abilities. 

Oh, this was too much, Picard thought without humor, with perhaps a little fear. This was overwhelming him, and though he reveled in it he wanted no part of it. Q's legs and arms were wrapped around him closely now, and the feel of those hands over his back and the mouth now exploring deeply his own was unlocking something in him. That pain inside him, that burning, was moving outwards now, and yet spiraling in deeper. He began to want something fiercely, but it was only when Q's leg brushed his erection that he knew what it was. 

"Jean-Luc!" Q crowed, having felt this unmistakable sign of desire as well. With a delighted and triumphant laugh, he began kissing down the captain's chin, then his neck, while his too-Human and trembling hands worked apart the fastenings of Picard's shirt. 

"Q," Picard said, but it wasn't a protest, not exactly, and Q had no intention of stopping this without a court order from the Continuum, and maybe not even then. 

"Jean-Luc," Q moaned, saying the name again just because it felt wonderful. Everything felt wonderful, Picard's neck, his shoulders, the first feel of that chest, so far seen only through the opening of those ridiculous pajamas. Q broke off the kiss to look at that first exposed patch of skin: grey-black hair curling softly, high pectoral muscles rippling as Picard's arms moved almost aimlessly over Q's sides, as though reflecting Picard's inner debate. 

"Oh, let me, please, please let me, please, please," Q said, opening the shirt the rest of the way and planting the first kisses on Picard's chest. He tasted delicious. Later, he would make Picard beg. Later he would be able to touch the captain and maintain control. He could certainly tease and manipulate with the best of them. But not now. Not right this minute. 

Q didn't completely remove Picard's shirt, not wanting to see if the man would or wouldn't lift himself off the floor enough to allow it. He moved his fingers and lips down further on Picard's body, opening up the front of the pants and trying to slide them down enough, just enough to -- 

Picard stilled, then lifted his hips up, just slightly, and Q made a noise suspiciously like a sob. 

Picard's pants and shoes were off him in three seconds, and the shirt and socks followed. Picard's erection showed plainly under his black briefs, and Q was back on him in an instant, running his fingertips over Picard's stomach, delicately touching the outsides and then the insides of his thighs, until Picard muttered something Q decided was "more." Deftly but carefully, Q removed the captain's underwear and looked at him. 

Flushed a deep red, rising from a thick nest of grey-black curls, Picard's cock rose straight up, with a thick teardrop of fluid at the tip. Q breathed in deeply, and here was that new smell, sweet and erotic, and, not stopping the movement of his hands over Picard's body, Q leaned forward and licked that fluid from the crown of Picard's penis. His hips jerked in response, and the man moaned, "Q." 

_I'm doing this to him!_ Q thought. _Look at him move around, trying to get me to hurry, listen to his breathing, feel this man's hunger. It's for me. Not Beverly or Vash or Neela or that revolting Borg Queen. Me._ And then he took Picard deeply into his mouth, and almost died with joy as the captain flung his head back and screamed. 

"Q," Picard moaned next. "Q." 

Picard knew he was rapidly losing the ability to think. He'd never had anyone take him in so deeply this way, and the busy hands along his body were driving him insane. He still didn't want to believe this was what Q wanted from him, and now he was having to accept that this was what he wanted from Q. 

The entity had to concentrate to keep from coming. Emotionally, if not physically, he didn't even care about his own erection anymore. He'd had that pain for so long now, so many years of hardness and longing. He wanted to think only of the man beneath him, but the simple thought that Picard _was_ beneath him almost made him come yet again. It was horrible to fight his Human body like this. Horrible and awful and oh please please please he never wanted it to stop. 

Frowning at the effort to forget about himself (a very new sensation indeed for Q), he pushed his lips further down Picard's hot and throbbing erection until his nose was tickled by that curly hair. The salt-sweet taste intoxicated him, and the steely silk feeling made him feel higher still. He began to bob his head, sucking hard and then licking with his tongue, around the crown, along the underside -- Picard gasped very loudly at that, Q noted for future reference -- then sucked again, moving up and down as Picard's hips thrust involuntarily. They quickly found a rhythm, and Q used his left hand to trail patterns on Picard's stomach while his right hand cupped his balls, and he felt the man's scrotum tighten even as Picard grunted a warning. 

"Q, I'm going...ooooh...I'm coming...ahhh. Oh!" 

And with that, Picard came in Q's mouth, hot spurts that Q sucked in and swallowed greedily, wanting every drop, every taste of this man. He drew the orgasm out as long as he could, sucking and licking until the man was completely spent, and lay there bonelessly on the carpet, gasping, eyes unfocussed. 

Exhausted himself, Q lay on the floor beside him, and, though he wanted to stare every second he could at Picard's naked body, he let himself close his eyes for a moment, just a moment, to catch his breath and will his erection down. Picard had let him do more than he'd hoped, and it was time to be still and undemanding. Picard might be regretting this, might be wanting to blame Q for doing this to him. Q found he no longer wanted to open his eyes, didn't want to see anger or recriminations. He just wanted to lie there and listen to Picard breathe, feel the heat off his body, and, yes, imagine for a moment that he could continue, could give in to the loud demands of his Human form. 

But then Picard moved, rolling over on his side to look down on Q, and the entity tensed. 

"What about you?" Picard said. 

Q frowned, eyes still closed. Could this be another surprise? 

"Q, stop this. Look at me." 

Dark eyes opened to glitter at him. 

Picard rubbed a hand over his forehead, amazed that he could feel so incredibly pleasured and yet still want more. It was Q's fault, he thought wryly. Would he even recognize himself when this was all over? This was all Q's fault. 

Time to thank him. 

"This isn't like you, Q," Picard said softly. "Have I done this to you?" 

"Tell me what you want, Jean-Luc, and I'll do it." 

Picard closed his eyes briefly against the sensation as those words washed over him. Q meant it, he was certain of that now, and the idea absolutely floored him. 

Swiftly, he dropped his head and kissed Q's lips, stifling his reaction to the taste of himself in that warm mouth, and drew forth a moan before pulling back and saying almost conversationally: 

"I want you to tell me exactly what you want to do to me." 

Q hesitated. 

"This should be good," Picard noted dryly, his lips curling as the entity's eyes narrowed. His Q was returning now. No more begging. 

His Q! 

"I want to be inside you, Jean-Luc," Q growled. "I want to part you and open you and go deep, deep inside and have you hold me there, want me there, want me never to leave you, and I want to come and pour myself inside you until it reaches your heart." 

The ache returned to that spot between Picard's belly and chest. How could it have taken so long for him to recognize that it was desire? He'd felt desire before, even if he couldn't remember those moments right now. Well, he knew it was desire now. 

Picard affected a shrug, albeit a somewhat shaky one. "If you insist." 

And the feeling Picard knew at the look that spread across Q's face told Picard that he'd been wrong, that it wasn't just desire that lived now in that spot. Desire was just the smallest part of it. 

"But I'm not getting friction burns," Picard said, listening to his voice shake. He stood, aware that this revealed the beginnings of the return of his erection, and bent to help Q to his feet. 

But Q had something else in mind, and he rushed from the floor like a fury, grabbed Picard by the shoulders and pulled him to the bed. They fell across it together, and without even a snap of his fingers Q willed his clothes gone and pressed the length of his flushed body against Picard's strong, terribly mortal frame. He fought to control his urgency. This wasn't going to be easy on Picard in a number of ways. 

Picard smiled at him, the expression filled with understanding. He kissed Q deeply, passionately, then disengaged and rolled over on his stomach. 

"Jean-Luc," Q whispered with something like awe as his fingers went to the perfect curves of Picard's ass. The man shuddered as he trailed patterns on those cheeks, then moved farther, down those thighs, then back to that cleft. His position wasn't right, and Q spent precious seconds helping Picard spread his legs and settling in between them. His cock was throbbing now and his chest heaving, so close to what he'd wanted for so long he almost couldn't stand it. Knowing it would give Picard a special little thrill, he leaned down and planted kisses along both cheeks, and felt the man shudder and heard him start to moan. He couldn't believe it. 

Picard couldn't believe it either. For the first time in his life he wanted to be penetrated by a man...well, not quite a man, but a man in every way right this minute that counted. The thought of having Q that close to him, that intimately connected, was making him feel incomplete without it, almost desperately empty, and now Q's lips were moving closer to the center of him, and Picard found that he had stopped shuddering and gone into constant trembling. 

"Do you like this, Jean-Luc?" Q asked, no longer the desperate, begging tone from before, just a question, a desire to know if he were giving the pleasure he intended. 

Much better, Picard thought. "Yes," he gasped out as Q's lips brushed his opening. The lips curved up his left buttock, then returned for longer contact, then repeated the movements up and down his right cheek. Then the mouth stayed at his center and kissed him more forcefully, and then a tongue -- 

"Aaahhh!" Picard let out, his muscles clenching and then releasing blissfully. "Oh, ooooooh!" 

The tongue was caressing him deeply, insistently, and then it probed, and Picard sobbed and jerked his hips back, spreading his legs wider, and the tongue pushed in and out. 

"Q," Picard warned, "I'm going to come!" 

The tongue stopped, everything stopped until Picard caught his breath and relaxed again. Then a well-lubricated finger probed at him, teasing him only a moment before pushing inside, a little at first, then deeply, and rubbed against his prostate. 

Picard was jerking his hips roughly now, though Q was making sure he didn't yet find a rhythm as he slid in another finger. "Q," he moaned. 

"Yes, Jean-Luc?" 

The moan turned into a groan as Picard realized Q was fully back now, the teasing note revealing another challenge. 

But Picard was tired of challenges. There was nothing more for Q to say. After years of longing, all the excuses, all the work that Q had done to bring them here, Picard felt generous and impatient. 

"Fuck me," Picard invited, his deep voice deeper with desire. "Fuck me right now, Q." 

The fingers stilled, then retreated, and Q took position behind Picard, holding on to his raised hips and putting the weeping crown of his erection at the ring of relaxed but still tight muscle. The dominance of this movement washed through him, making him feel almost guilty. He'd wanted Picard like this before him for so long and for so many reasons he was again struggling not to come just looking at that bowed head, those taut shoulders pushing the captain's weight onto his elbows. Q applied the lightest pressure with his hands and the Human's hips tilted back, his whole luscious body opening up and readying for Q's entry. 

And he hesitated. 

"Picard," he whispered, the scared longing back full-force. "I don't want to hurt you. I could...make this easier." 

Picard almost thrust back against Q for an answer, then forced out the words. "No, just take me the way you are, the way we are right now. Things hurt. It's part of being mortal." 

Q shoved those last words away from him. He couldn't think about Picard's mortality now. But slowly, as slowly as he could without using his powers, he pushed just the tip of himself through that opening, and felt the involuntary tension work to push him back out. Q bit his lip hard to concentrate, and pushed just a bit harder. 

Picard made a noise and Q almost retreated, but then Picard's breathing was deep and even again, and Q just kept himself there, trying to get Picard used to the feeling, urging him silently to relax. 

But, oh, it was the hardest thing he could remember doing, staying just this far inside this hot, tight channel. His cock had given up throbbing and simply stayed hot and tight and painfully hard at a constant maximum level, though that level did seem to grow even greater in pulses. Picard was perfect, perfect. The muscles of his legs and ass and back and arms moved under his glistening skin and fought to relax as his opening accepted him in the briefest of surges, and Q pushed a little farther in. 

For Picard, it were as though he could feel Q's whole body through their painful connection. The rabid pulse was moving deeper within him, and he could feel the tension and desire and need through Q's hands gripping so tightly on his hips, could feel Q's unsteadiness in the trembling of his thighs pressed against his own. But mostly he felt the pain as his body tried to open up, tried to accept the large hot cock it didn't want to recognize as anything but an intruder. He tried to breathe his way through it, but the pain was getting worse. 

_This is Q,_ Picard told himself sternly. _I'm on my elbows and knees and Q is fucking me, pushing himself into my body, watching me struggle to accept him, and I'm letting him. I'm enjoying it. I want it._

And he did want it, Picard proclaimed to himself with relief. He had for a long time now, perhaps indeed ever since the shuttlecraft. 

Q felt Picard's inner muscles relax only a second before the captain pushed back against him, driving Q deeper in than he'd dared. And then Q wasn't thinking anymore about anything. He thrust again, and again, trying to be gentle but needing, oh needing to be inside Jean-Luc, deep inside him. The tight heat was rubbing all down the length of his cock, the slap of this perfect ass against his thighs jolted through them both, and Jean-Luc was moaning now and shaking and sweating. 

"I love you," Q said, bending over, pressing his chest to Picard's back and covering his neck with kisses. "I love you I love you I love you." They found a rhythm now, counted off by Q's words of love and desire as Picard went into a steady moaning hum of pleasure. He was fully hard now, filled and tortured with erotic sensations he'd never dreamed, and he shouted in incoherent ecstasy when Q's slick right hand reached around and took gentle but firm hold of his erection. 

"Q," Picard grunted, thrusting himself into that large warm hand. The pain he'd felt during Q's entry was almost completely gone, rubbed away in sweet sweet friction and now the warmth of it was spreading through him like no pleasure he'd felt before. It was rough and shockingly intimate and demanding. The submissive nature of his position wasn't something he could completely ignore, but he found he didn't care much about it right now, not as Q's whispered words of love were growing rougher with choked sobs and the warmth from his ass had filled his body completely. 

This was so unlike anything he'd felt before that his body seemed almost reborn to him: a creation of lust and power and need and some pain but infinitely greater pleasure. The rough feel of Q inside him, the need to have something deeper and deeper within his own body, the thought of being around Q, the proof of the pleasure he was giving his lover pounded out for him in that wild pulse...there was nothing to hold back here, nothing to hide, and he began to feel something give inside his heart, his mind, that he hadn't known could give. And the relief was even more powerful than his arousal...until it fueled his arousal, and Picard dimly realized he was headed for the greatest orgasm of his life. 

But then he became aware that Q was holding back, and at great cost to himself. 

"Q," he groaned, not the best time in the world to be attempting a coherent sentence. "Q, what...aaahhhh...is it?" 

"You...first," Q managed to grate out in time with his thrusts, increasing the pressure from his hand around Picard's cock. "You...first." 

But Picard didn't want to come first. He wanted to be here, experiencing everything, when Q came inside him, and so he put more force in his thrusts back against Q and experimented with gripping his muscles more tightly around him, but though Q's noises grew more frantic, he still held back. 

Then Picard smiled to himself. He had a weapon he hadn't yet tried, and with a final massive thrust against the straining body behind him, he used it. 

"Q," he gasped. "I love you." 

Q went completely still for an instant, then shuddered and thrust deeply, deeply into the body of his beloved captain and came, screaming. Picard felt the hot liquid moving even deeper into his body, and his own eyes rolled back as he came into Q's hand, blacking out and collapsing to the soft bed, Q's body holding him so that he didn't melt into nothing. 

  
When Q woke up, his first thought was that the part of himself he'd left keeping an eye on Picard's ship had needed to move him and Jean-Luc out of time. Riker was on his way to Picard's ready room with some silly report. Oh well, it didn't matter to Q. And he hoped it wouldn't matter to Picard. When they were done here, he would put them back into time and no one would be the wiser. 

His second thought was that he couldn't believe he'd once disliked sleep. He knew less than a minute had passed since he'd come, but it felt like days, days of lying there with Picard beneath him. Vulnerability, once a horror, became a joy when shared. 

Wanting to take advantage of Picard's own unconsciousness, he started to ease out of his body, but at the first movement the captain shivered awake. 

"Did I hurt you?" Q asked. 

"No," Picard said, but when Q had withdrawn from him he could see the blood. 

"Damnit, Picard," he said, biting his lip and snapping his fingers to heal the small tears and clean them both up. 

Picard rolled over then and wrapped his arms around Q, glad the entity hadn't taken away the soreness inside him. He needed that proof that they had done what they had done. He looked into Q's eyes and smiled with satisfaction, then leaned up and kissed surprised lips. A second passed before Q kissed him back, gently, deeply, thoroughly, and Picard chuckled as his body began to respond. 

"I seem to be less tired than I should be," the captain murmured. "Just what are you doing to me?" 

Q pulled back from him and looked somewhat cautious. "It's the time." 

Picard frowned at him, then shuddered as Q's hands left his back and moved over his chest. One hand stilled over his left nipple, then took it between thumb and forefinger, squeezing and rolling gently. 

"What...ahhh...what do you mean about the time?" 

But Q had moved down and was applying his tongue to Picard's right nipple, lapping it, swirling around it, tapping the tip with a soft pat, then he put his lips around the small aureola and sucked, gently, then more insistently, and Picard felt the blood rushing from his brain to his cock. 

"You're so beautiful," Q said, lifting his lips just enough to form the words and chilling Picard with the breath on his wet nipple. "So strong...so fragile...Do you have any idea how much I want you?" 

"I'm...ooooh...getting the idea." 

Then Q chuckled and moved his head down again, sucking and swirling with his tongue now, before he moved over to the other nipple while continuing to tease the first with his fingers. 

"I'm going to make sure you do," Q threatened. "I didn't like having to beg before, you know, though I'm sure you enjoyed it, watching me on my knees. Well, Mon Capitaine, enough of that and time for you to tell me what you want. I'd like to see you stick your pride under a rock and crawl to me while you moan for what you need, and don't think I can't make you do it." 

Picard chuckled, growing harder as he heard the familiar notes of mockery and disdain. This was the Q he loved, though the entity had known he had to step outside his character to get Picard to trust him. This was the Q he wanted. 

And so Picard surprised Q again. 

With a push that caught Q off-guard, Picard rolled them both over in the huge white bed and threw his leg over Q's body. His lover stilled, and Picard used the moment to lower his own lips to Q's right nipple and suck not gently at all. 

"Oh!" Q gasped, and so Picard sucked even more tightly, using one hand's fingers to tease the left nipple into hardness while the other hand drifted south and found the base of Q's cock. 

"Yes, Q," Picard told the shuddering entity under him. "I'm sure you're going to make me beg and plead and crawl and all that, but later. Later, please." He moved his lower hand up along the length of Q's erection and felt it twitch. "First let me make love to you." 

"Jean-Luc..." Q breathed, cursing himself for feeling even weaker than he had before. Picard was going to pay for this, pay for making Q so...Human, but the captain was right. It was going to be later. Never, in even his wildest dreaming, had Q envisioned a scenario where Picard actually led the way, initiated the connection. 

"Just lie back and relax," Picard was saying now, his warm breath tickling the hairs of Q's chest as he moved along the lines of his pectoral muscles. And so Q did that, wallowing back on the white comforter, smooth and cool against his heated and sensitized skin. He felt Picard withdraw just a bit and opened his eyes to see the captain staring down at him tenderly. Their eyes connected, and Picard leaned down for the kiss Q didn't want to end. But it did, though it was continued in the line of kisses down Q's chest, his stomach -- evidently a tender area -- and then on down to Q's swollen and inviting erection. When had Q become beautiful to him? When had _this_ become beautiful to him? His lips were telling him about the softness and the strength of Q here, and he put his tongue to that remarkable texture and felt himself grow harder even as Q gasped and the tip of his erection began to weep. Slowly, Picard breathed in the smell and then moved in to take the slightest taste of the fluid into his mouth. The hips below him jerked, but he closed his eyes to experience Q's...bouquet. A fine, salty yet sweet taste that he feared would become increasingly delicious over time. 

"Jean-Luc," Q groaned, and the captain remembered the task at hand with a guilty start. 

Eyes open and determined, Picard ran his tongue up and down the length of his lover as though he were a jub-jub stick, then swirled his tongue at the top, tasting the fluid again, then moved to take Q into his mouth and was surprised at how difficult this was. He had new respect for his lovers in the past who had done this for him, and for Q, who had done it so well. It was hard not to gag, not to drool excessively, hard to move his tongue around to increase stimulation. 

But it was easily worth it when Q moaned his name and undulated his hips, pleading for more. 

And then Picard realized that he was actually enjoying this. The taste and the smell and the intimacy and the power of it were all starting to go to his head, and to his penis. There was a strange element of fun about it, doing to Q what Picard had enjoyed having done to him, that was absent when he went down on women. Picard had always enjoyed that maneuver, actually. He was going to miss it. 

And when, Picard wondered to himself as he forced his mouth a little further down Q's hot cock, did _that_ start? 

"Oh, Jean-Luc..." Q warned him, and Picard, greatly excited by the thought of Q coming in his mouth, sucked harder and deeper than he had before. 

And then Q was coming in hot spurts that damn near strangled Picard, but he didn't let go, forcing himself to swallow, and the warmth and the sensation were payment enough without Q's shuddering gasps of pleasure. 

"Don't tell me you're going to stop there," Q said a few moments later. 

Picard raised his head from the bed at the deep voice, the music of its humor washing over him, letting him know he was loved and challenging him at the same time. 

When Picard didn't answer, Q moved his arm languidly over his lover and settled the lightest of grasps around the man's neglected erection. Picard, still a little overwhelmed from having Q in his mouth, didn't respond, couldn't think what to say, and Q chuckled at him. His voice, however, was tinged with the most unpleasant -- to Picard's ears, at least -- trace of uncertainty. 

"Or don't you want me?" 

Suddenly, Picard realized what Q was talking about and he felt the jolt of it all through his body, though especially in his cock, which twitched in Q's hand. 

The entity chuckled again, and there was no mistaking the pleased tone of it, and Picard felt charged with an energy of sudden and deep longing. He wanted -- he needed to be inside Q, as quickly and as deeply as possible. Even his complete lack of experience seemed no barrier as Q sat up to meet him on the bed and kissed him deeply, thrilled with the hunger of Picard's kiss, his hands moving over Q's arms, then up over his shoulders. 

"Because, if you don't want me," Q said conversationally, though the effort was surprising, "I could always go knit you a sweater or something." 

With a growl, Picard shoved Q onto his stomach and pushed himself between his legs. He felt a new sensation, warm oil over his erection, the same oil he found a moment later as he began exploring Q's cleft. But he tried not to be hurried, swirling his fingertips over Q's ass and once again surprising himself with the thought that what he was seeing and feeling was not only arousing but gorgeous. Returning that special favor Q had done him earlier, he bent his head and kissed along the smooth curve of Q's ass, down one side and up the other, then kissed a hot, sucking trail up and down the small of his back. 

"Hurry up," Q groaned. 

Picard slipped a finger inside and worked the tight muscle as Q had worked his...how long ago was that now?...and worked up to three fingers before Q barked impatiently, "Enough, Jean-Luc. Inside me!" 

Even as he was taking position, Picard grated out, "Inside you? I think I was a bit more direct with what I wanted." 

"Fuck me or have the blight of hell visited upon you and your ancestors!" 

And it was odd to be laughing while he pushed himself into Q, laughing with the joy and the incredibly wonderful feeling of tight heat and strong submission. The play of muscles across Q's back was almost hypnotic, and the arch and flex of Q's hips as Picard thrust gently into that unbelievably erotic center of his lover was driving the captain past the point of control. He chomped on his lip to keep from going too fast, mindful of how gentle Q had been, and tried to hold himself back from doing anything his lover wouldn't enjoy. 

But now Q was howling with need. "Fuck me harder! Fuck me faster! What are you waiting for, the next step in your Human evolution?" 

And Picard decided that he really didn't like having Q coherent enough to form such complicated sentences. With a grunt, and then another, he thrust into Q, feeling the protesting muscles clench and release around him, raising up Q's hips to slam further inside, taking the advantage as Q spread his legs wider and began to scream in earnest. Picard would have been concerned, but he knew his powerful lover would certainly stop anything he didn't want, and, liberated, he forgot about holding himself back. This was so hot, so right, so perfect, so wonderful. Nothing in his life had given him the pure ecstasy of ramming deeper and deeper into Q while his lover howled with pleasure. 

Q was writhing about now, flailing arms and legs with each of Picard's frenzied thrusts. 

And as much as Picard loved what he was seeing and feeling, as great and perfect and powerful as this all was, the orgasm which came up from behind his eyes was not going to be stopped or slowed. He threw himself into it instead, screaming at the top of his lungs and pressing harder, faster into Q, wanting his lover to come with him, and Q was screaming even louder, and together they moved forward over that cliff until with a final wrenching thrust Picard lost everything in a hot explosion out of himself and into Q. And his seed rushed deep inside Q's body, on and on until it reached his heart. 

THE END


End file.
